


A Moment of Silence

by FireBelly



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dany and Jon are Queen and King, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Jonerys, King's Landing - Red Keep setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 17:28:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20118859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireBelly/pseuds/FireBelly
Summary: Cleanliness is next to godsliness. Dany and Jon enjoy an evening in the royal chambers by taking a bath together. At least, that's where things begin.





	A Moment of Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I just completed this first draft of the story. There's no plotline, we're just voyeurs to an evening of beautiful Jonerys lovemaking. I love writing these fantasies, and hope you'll enjoy reading it. Let me know your thoughts, suggestions, questions. Cheers!
> 
> ADVICE: Hot candle wax is used in this fic. Unless you’re the Mother of Dragons, don’t try this at home--you can get badly burned. But apparently if you're interested you can find something called a massage candle that will heat to a lower temperature that’s perfect for this kind of fun.

We don’t need to talk. I close my eyes and sink into Jon Snow’s arms, feeling his strong fingers knead my scalp. Submerged almost to my neck, I reach out of the steaming bath to reposition my arms on the sides of the deep washtub. In our glorious cavernous chambers, the drips echo as they fall into the water.

Angling my body to get even more comfortable against him, I tilt my head back to rest on his shoulder. I feel the roughness of his beard gently scrape my cheek, feel his breath tickle my ear as he exhales in a quiet chuckle. Without realizing it, I had let out a soft groan of pleasure.

Jon lifts my hair off the nape of my neck and suckles a pathway from my earlobe to the curve of my shoulder. Sitting between his thighs under the water, my back pressed against his hard chest, I feel his cock twitch against my hip. My love is impatient. I feel a smile touch my lips, languishing in the knowledge that there will be no distractions. We have all night to enjoy each other. There’s no royal business to attend to, no marching armies to defeat.

The late strains of afternoon sun color my vision through my eyelids. Jon releases my hair and slides his hands down my neck, massaging the vertebrae gently with his thumbs while his fingers delicately press into the vulnerable flesh of my throat. The scent of roses wafts from his hands as they slip along my skin with the fragrant soap. Small luxuries. On the run from the king as a young girl and later living with the Dothraki, I had no knowledge of such wondrous, simple pleasures as sweet smelling soap.

Jon slides his hands down further still, along my shoulders, and he begins to massage the tense muscles along the flat planes of my upper back. He is very good at this. I wonder briefly if he’s bathed with other women before and a jolt of jealousy strikes low in my stomach. But how silly—he is mine, and I am his. If he honed this talent on another body, it matters not. I’m the one benefitting from his skills now and forever.

It’s so good to be lazy in his arms. But my eager love turns up the heat, licking a trail with his dastardly tongue up my back along the vertebrae as his hands trace along my ribs to cradle my breasts. He fondles my nipples, and they grow hard under the manipulation of his fingertips. I feel my heartbeat quicken and my pulse comes to life between my legs. I arch further into his shoulder. He presses his hardness against me, urgently. As you wish, my King.

I wrest my body out of his talented grip and turn to face him, knees bent, the water sloshing slightly onto the tile floor. I know each soft line, have memorized every scar, of his face by now, and still I get a thrill staring into these lovely dark eyes. The sweet smile my sullen love so rarely shares in public is a reward to me alone. I run my hands through his dark curls, wetting them, all the better to view the handsome angles of his face. When he parts his lush, full lips to say something, I silence him with my own. He huffs in protest against my mouth, but I trace my tongue along the seam of his lips, seeking entrance, making him forget his thoughts. I am loath to break the perfection of this moment with spoken words.

Our kiss deepens, and I sit between his knees again. Jon wriggles his hips slightly forward to allow me to slide my feet and legs behind him, and his hard cock matches with my center, the contact thrilling. Releasing his lips for the moment, I cling to his shoulders to get comfortable. I watch his eyes move down my body, appreciating my soap-slick chest. His tongue darts out and explores his lower lip, mimicking what he’s anticipating doing to me with his mouth. Even with the heat of the water, the reaction gives me gooseflesh. 

Jon slides his hands under my bottom and cradles me onto his forearms, lifting and opening me to perfect access. From between my breasts, his dark eyes wander up to meet mine, and I smooth my hand across his forehead, down his cheek, and cradle his prickly jaw. Just then, I feel that his hands have found placement directly beneath my hot opening. Staring at me intently with burning, huge pupils, Jon’s fingers find my folds and travel to the sensitive connection of nerves at my core. As he deftly slides back and forth, I feel the electrical pulses begin to reverberate from his touch. 

Holding his face in my hands, I lean forward and take his mouth roughly, the intensity building, a wildness flooding me and running over, engulfing him, and our lips are tangling, our tongues, hot and wet, dipping, sucking. Our mouths are enmeshed in a trance of lust. Jon’s fingers slide along my folds, finding my center, and seek to match the pace of his eager tongue. I murmur, keeping my rule of silence to wordlessly beg for the culmination we both ache for. Jon takes my breast into his mouth, working his tongue against the nipple. He clamps onto it with his teeth, applying gentle, exquisite pressure, as I reach between our stomachs, find his cock, urge it to my entrance. 

Jon’s strong arms ease me onto his magnificent hardness, slowly, slowly, edging into me with such controlled ardor that I am thrumming with anticipation. At last, he fills me to the hilt, and I lean forward, gripping tightly to his back, and rest my cheek on the crown of his head. I press my shins against the side of the tub to help him work me up and down. We pant with exertion. My clitoris hits the base of his cock just right, and again, and again. Leaning back, I capture his lips and work him like it’s been a long drought and he is the pump I must prime for a desperate drink of water.

We break the kiss and open our eyes, staring deeply. His dark brown orbs are glittering and his breath is coming in short rasps. His mouth is slack and his lips are so plump from my kisses. A single bead of sweat appears at his hairline and tumbles slowly to the edge of his eyebrow, sliding down his temple. I feel the heat of my own skin… just another minute more and… Jon wraps an arm around my waist, levering me slightly to his right and this new angle sends me crashing over the edge. My eyes fall closed again and I welcome the searing comets in a dark sky, detonating onto far away planets, cascading earth and stone to the corners of my universe. 

A sound comes from my throat that is nothing short of animalistic—a mewl, a caterwaul, an aching howl. “Gods, Dany,” he says, and I say, “Shh.” I rest my hands on his shoulders, touch my forehead to his, enjoy the moment. 

My heart calm once again, I slide down his arms to take his hands in my own. With his help, I begin to untangle my legs from behind him and slowly ease out of his lap. Jon is looking at me like a wounded puppy, and I stifle a laugh. Quick as I can, I stand up on unsteady feet and gesture for him to do the same. I watch his muscles flex, the well-defined flesh move over his ribs, the bathwater cascade down the godlike planes of him, down his privates and hard thighs, his gorgeous member still aching and rigid as beads of water glisten there in his dark curls. I feel his eyes on me as I reach a hand to the side of the tub, clasping my other hand tightly in his, and step out, dripping on the tile floor. I turn my back and purposely bend to pick up the towel. I look over my shoulder at my poor King who is still wearing a sad, pained expression. I run the towel quickly over my body, then hold it up, encouraging him to step out with me. His brow lifts as he realizes I won’t leave him wanting. Almost shyly, he steps out of the tub and into my waiting arms. I wrap the towel around him, trapping his arms at his sides, and tease a smile from His Broodiness. Taking a moment to hug him with all my strength, I feel my heart swell inside me, overflowing with happiness and deep love. 

Reverently, I slide the towel over his sopping body, catching the drips from his neck down his torso, down his arms, from his hips and behind, down his thighs, past his knees, to his feet, where I kneel. I stare up at Jon from eye level to his hardness, and gently I use the towel to dry his tender parts. Dropping the towel, I sit back on my heels and place my palms on his knees. Keeping eye contact, I smooth upwards to the tops of his thighs and back down again, kneeling high then low then high again, arriving once more at his beautiful member. He’s watching me through lowered lids, and I’m pleased to see he’s no longer looking dejected, just observing me with curiosity and ardor. 

I slide my hands up the backs of his thighs and take handfuls of his sculpted arse. Lowering my gaze to his gorgeous cock, I salivate, anticipating his taste. Gripping him with one hand, I slide my lips over his glossy blunt end, swirl my tongue over the gentle ridges, open wider, accept more, dip my tongue along the underside, pucker purposefully, increase the suction, slide my hand to minister to the root of him. Jon’s hands move to my hair and his fingers ease into my scalp. A long groan emanates from his throat, washing me with joy for the effect I’m having. My fingers prod into the muscles of his backside and I pull him deeper into my throat. I begin to set a rhythm, licking the head of his cock, sliding my mouth down, then up, sucking hard, laving again, until I have him panting like a hunted animal. I feel his muscles quicken, feel his hands pressing at me, trying to stop me, but I make my intentions known, a simple sound of determination, and his hands go still on my shoulders as pleasure wracks his body, filling my mouth with his tangy fluid. He finishes, and I drink his seed, lick him again, smooth my thumb along his pelvic bone. Place a kiss there. Blink at him through my lashes, and smile. He looks dumbstruck and peaceful. He is so handsome, my love. He caresses my cheek, strokes his thumb across my lips, and helps me to stand.

Once he has me on my feet, Jon wraps his arms tightly around me and kisses me with a hunger that I return with my own insatiable need, our tongues swooping and tangling. He breaks away and in one motion, pulls my legs out from under me to carry me like a child to our bed. He tosses me gently onto the soft surface, and I’m thrilled, giggling, but he settles me with a dark, warning look a stern father might give. I feel a tension like bowstrings tightening in my belly. I sit up to kiss him, but he won’t allow it. He holds up a hand to still me and dashes across the room. He goes to the changing screen and rifles through a trunk, searching fervently. For what? In an instant, he returns more slowly, predatorily, one hand behind his back. He opens his mouth, a question or instruction forming, but I hold a finger up to my lips, reminding him of our unspoken game.

He sits next to me on the bed and brings his hand from behind his back, revealing a long strip of dark, silky material. He runs it through his fingers, then looks at me, and the barest tinge of a smile touches his lips. My heart skips, and I stare back, enthralled by his mysterious intention. Then I smile too, welcoming whatever he may have in store for me. I watch Jon’s face, a muscle twitch at his jaw, and my love reaches both hands toward me, fabric stretched between them. I watch him interestedly until the soft dark ribbon obscures my vision. Jon tucks the silky ends behind my ears, leans me forward, gently ties them together in a knot at the back of my head. His hand caresses my cheek, and I nod into his palm to let him know I accept his new game. 

He leans me back into the softness of the furs and coaxes my hips toward the center of the bed. He lifts my body, smooths the furs beneath my shoulders, my back, and continues doing this down my body, kneading my muscles, stretching my legs out, lingering on my feet for a moment, a foot in each hand, gently massaging the insteps. I take in a deep breath, feeling so relaxed and comfortable. Then his hands leave me and I feel the subtraction of his weight from the bed. The afternoon has become evening, and the faint light is completely blocked by the silky blindfold. I can see nothing. My sense of hearing is heightened with the removal of my sight, and I listen intently. I hear Jon across the room, sounding to be near our small dining table. Yes… the rasp and click of stones, the singe of paper burning—he’s ignited the contents of the tinderbox. I smell the flames. He’s lighting the candles. There’s a clink of glass on glass and a splashing sound—pouring wine. Wait, is he just going to leave me here to fall asleep? That can’t be. This is definitely intriguing. Maybe it was a mistake to encourage no talking. So now I can’t ask questions, and I can’t see what he’s doing. Have patience, Daenerys, I tell myself, almost hearing him say it in his Northern accent. 

I hear the soft footsteps of Jon’s bare feet on the tile floor coming back to the bed. He sits down next to me again, takes my hand in his and lightly pulls. I sit up. He caresses my shoulder, moves closer to me, places his hand on the nape of my neck. I feel the cool smoothness of a glass edge at my lips. I open my mouth and a light touch of wine passes onto my tongue. I take the edge of the glass more confidently between my lips, and Jon pours a bit more. But this time, the wine sloshes out of the top of the glass, trickles down the corner of my lip to my chin. Jon pulls the glass away and leans in, mops up the droplets with a kiss, then darts his tongue out to lick its path from my chin back to my lip. 

All of my senses are on edge. I’m vibrating with a nervous energy I didn’t expect. I tilt my head to collect his lips with my own. His tongue urges my mouth open. The kiss is languid. My body arches toward his. I reach for his chest, slide my hands around his ribs, pull him closer. His tender mouth suckles mine, kisses expanding out to cover my jaw line, purse at the pulse point below my ear. He draws back and rests a hand on my thigh, stilling me. A soft but solid object touches my lip. I inhale its dairy scent… a bit of cheese. I open my mouth to accept the offering. I hear him quietly chewing as well. Next Jon presents a round, firm shape that yields a delicious burst of fruit juice on my tongue. He offers the glass of wine again, and I drink. I feel like a bird or a small child, being fed blindly. Who else would I let reduce me to this helpless, sensory state? Not Drogo. Not Jorah. Not even Missandei. Jon Snow elicits a trust in me such as I’ve never known. Realizing this here and now solidifies something in me. We are unique to each other in all the world. We are blood. We are the last Targaryens.

With his hands on my shoulders, Jon indicates that I should recline again into the furs. I oblige his request. I faintly see a blur of light through the blindfold, and I hear Jon expel breath, hear and smell the sound of a candle being extinguished. Jon traces a finger along my collarbone, from just beneath my throat out toward my shoulder, and I feel something wet and molten follow the path his finger just laid down. Candle wax! It is deliciously hot—a heat so intense it would painfully burn another woman—and I know without a doubt that he’s never done this with anyone before. His finger traces down the top of my breast. The candle wax follows. The finger travels inward, toward my breastbone. The molten heat follows. The trail laid upon my skin is a slow burn, tingling. Jon blows softly on the summit of this breast, and the contrast between the heat of the wax and his cool breath are exhilarating. I writhe and reach for him, moaning my approval. He continues to trace his path, showing me where the pleasure will go next, circling from my breast bone back out around the bottom side of my breast, spiraling up and around the top side, the wax following, and his mouth takes my hardened nipple as he stops to suckle it to a stiffer point. A burst of energy flows to my private parts and I scrub my fingers into his hair, pull him closer to my breast. His tongue lashes at my nipple, teasing it, and his free hand slides to the other breast to knead it roughly. He lifts his head away and begins the trail again, upon my breast, circling around the aureole nearer the nipple, the hot wax tripling its effect in this most sensitive area. I want to cry out, to shout approval, to beg him not to stop, but I am still committed to not speaking. Is he trying to make me break my rule? I realize that’s exactly what he’s doing! Oh, my love knows me well, but I wonder if even he doesn’t understand the strength of my resolve when I set my mind to something.

His finger reaches the pinnacle of my breast, which is standing at robust attention, and as he lifts his digit from the tiny mound, I am wound so tight. This next part will push me over the edge. My body is rife with anticipation. …And the trickle of wax stops short. A moment passes. Then another. I wave my hand at him. I moan and nod my head. He doesn’t respond. Did I say I trusted this person? Is he really not going to follow through? Could the wax all be spent? I hear a chuckle from him at my intense displeasure. Finally, mercifully, he resumes pouring, and I sob with relief. The thin stream of hot fury winds around the peak of my nipple, clings onto the sensitive flesh, molds itself to me and burns deep, and my body erupts in pleasure, a show of bursting colors beneath my blinded eyes.

Jon leans in to cradle me, lowers his mouth to the other breast, attaches like a newborn babe to suckle deeply as the pleasure continues washing over me, cleansing me, drowning me. I run a shaky hand over the muscles of his back and he scrambles up my body to cover my mouth with his. I pull my thigh out from beneath his weight to wrap over his backside. He is growing hard against my stomach. I want him inside me again, and that’s exactly where he wants to be. But instead, I break the kiss and snatch the blindfold off my eyes.

His features in the candlelight are comical. Lips stilled mid-kiss, eyebrows questioning. I press my palm into his right shoulder, make him get off me. He is very puzzled. And very hard. I urge him to lie back into the furs, and he does. I untie the knot in the scrap of fabric. He watches. I move my eyes from his hands to his face, from his face to his hands, from his hands to the wooden bannister at the head of our bed. An understanding dawns. He swallows. Could it be that Jon doesn’t trust me as I trust him? But no sooner do I complete the thought than I see a shadow of lust darken his eyes. He takes his hands from my waist, lifts his arms above his head, touching his wrists together, and nods to me. A shiver passes through my heart as I realize what I’m about to do to my King, and how happy he is going to be.

Straddling his waist, I lean forward and begin to wrap the silky material around his wrists. I makeshift a tie to keep them together, making sure to allow long enough strips to wrap around the horizontal wooden post at the head of the bed. I tie the ends around the post, then test the hold of the knots. Yes, that should do nicely, I think to myself with pride.

But now that I have him completely at my will, what should I do with him? I sit back on my hip alongside Jon, taking a moment to appreciate his gorgeous body, stretched above and below me. This was a very good idea. He is watching me intensely, surely aching to know what I’ve got in mind. The candlelight highlights the angles and valleys of his face, the flames glint in his dark eyes, his scar riddled chest rises and falls more rapidly than usual. I have an idea.

I quickly grab a candle, extinguishing the rest, and go to the chest of clothing, where Jon found the fabric he is currently tied with. Once, during my rule in Meereen, Missandei had wound a ribbon with turkey feathers into my braids. I know I still have a few of the feathers mixed in with my things. Finding them, I tie them together with a bit of ribbon, and hurry back to Jon. Putting the candle on the table near the bed, I kneel next to him and show him the feathers. He gives me a perplexed look. Clearly, this will require a bit of demonstration. I trace the feathers slowly along my cheek, pulling them across my nose and lips, and gaze up flirtatiously through my lashes. I bat my eyes. Jon rolls his! Ok, well then let’s try… moving the feathers further down. This feels very nice. I stroke my neck, my chest with the feathers, drifting them gradually down, all the while watching Jon tracing the path of the feathers down. I circle one breast, then the other, whispering just the tips of the feathers over the skin, and then pull them slowly across my taut nipples. I slide the feathers down my stomach and clutch them in one hand while I position my other hand low on my stomach, guiding my fingers down into the curls between my legs, hiding my hand with the feathers, then revealing it’s progress, then hiding it again, while my fingers disappear inside my folds. Jon watches as I rub myself with my left hand, caressing the rest of my body with the soft feathers in my right, I pull my wetness along the tight nub at my center and work it gently. It’s such a wanton feeling, touching myself with Jon’s eyes on me and knowing his inability to touch me himself is driving him mad with desire. Indeed, I can see in his face he’s struggling. I wonder if he feels like speaking, asking me to untie him, but the rules of the silence game we’re playing won’t allow it. Now you know how I felt earlier, my love. But soon the joke is on me, because seeing him lying there, so eager, wanting me, along with the pleasure I’m building between my legs make me realize I need him almost as desperately.

With a quick exhale, I blow out the last candle. It’s dark as Drogon’s scales. I hear my love emit a soft moan. Reaching out to him in the dark, I caress his neck with the feathers, tickle his throat, his underarms, he jerks and stifles a giggle. Ah, ticklish there, is he? How about the ribs… oh yes, he is most certainly ticklish here too. The wooden bar on the bed squeaks a bit as he pulls at his tether. I lift the feather and, as he did to me earlier with the wax, simply pause, letting him await my next move. A moment passes, then… I give his cock a good hard swat with the bundle of feathers, and he jumps. I do it a second time, and he lets out a soft yelp. Apologetically, I trace the feathers softly over his privates, tickling gently down his inner thighs. I feel him relax. I tease the feathers up his side, turn him gently with my other hand, trace the fluttery wand down his back and let it caress the split of his backside. Jon shudders beneath me, and I toss the feathers aside, needing him inside me with a sudden desperation. I lay across his body, hands traveling everywhere, grasping at his flesh feverishly. I trace my hands along his sides, up his strong arms, leading to the place where his hands are bound. I straddle him and take his lips while my hands work quickly to undo the tie. The knot is stubborn. I nearly curse. Instead, I bite hard on my lip as Jon pants at my throat, kissing and licking fervently. Undone! His hands crash into my hair, pulling me into a searing kiss, and then travel to my backside, gripping me at last, pushing me up then skewering me with his swift cock. A short penetration, then he lifts me again and lowers me slightly more—he is completely in control here—and he lifts me once more as I bite down hard on his right earlobe. He thrusts his hips upward, deep into me, and my breath is nearly knocked from my body. Roughly he grips my waist, violently slamming into me, and I wrest a bit of control back with my legs to counter slam into his hips. With a swift motion, he flips me onto my back and slides his hands beneath me, gripping my shoulders from behind, our chests pressed tightly together. He takes my lips again in a kiss, probing his tongue so deep I almost gag. He eases up and our tongues dual, trying to get the better of the other, teeth bumping, hips slamming, we possess each other. He breaks away, breath coming in ragged spurts, and flips me again, forcing my knees under my chest. He enters me savagely from behind, slides a hand up my back to grab a fistful of my hair, yanking my head sideways to smash his lips to mine, slash into the depths of my mouth with his tongue. With his right hand, he reaches between my legs while still accosting me with his animal cock, and finding the center of nerves, he rubs viciously. I come immediately, the orgasm breaking from me like a mast torn from a ship in an angry storm. I let out one long wail, so resounding that it’s a wonder that all of King’s Landing doesn’t come running, thinking I’m being massacred. Jon holds himself together for one, two, three more slams inside me and then finishes hard, flooding me with his seed, and his relieved cry echoes in my ear. I collapse into the bed’s silky furs, every bone in my body seemingly jelly, and Jon falls onto his back next to me.

The stars in the dark sky outside the balcony twinkle as they did the night before. But I’m convinced even those distant lights felt the effects of our Targaryen lovemaking tonight. I summon strength I’m surprised I have to move close to him, to rest my head on his shoulder, clutch my hand to his chest, entwine my leg with his. He lifts lazy fingers into the hair at my temple, draws tiny circles there, as our breath and heartbeats at last begin to slow.

Moments pass as we hold each other. Our chests rise and fall. And all I can think is the word miracle. What a miracle this man is. What a miracle to love so deeply. What a miracle that two people can find each other, and each desire the other, and be brave enough to share those feelings, and love so deeply, and even make a new life together… what a miracle.

I touch Jon’s cheek, turn his lips to mine, kiss him sweetly, chastely, trying with every ounce of energy I have left to convey those feelings. Effervescent with happiness, I break my silence at last to tease him: “I dare say, I have never been so thoroughly pampered, not even…” To which Jon interrupts, thickly in his Northern accent: “Hoosh, Daenerys. You’ll spoil the moment.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
